


close your eyes to exit

by orphan_account



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Season/Series 04, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 22:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Monster allows Quentin to talk to Eliot for a few minutes.





	close your eyes to exit

> We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said _What do you want, sweetheart?_  and you said  _Kiss me._
> 
> **\- Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain**

 

"You've been such a good friend to me, Quentin," The Monster says, in his disturbingly child-like voice, "I want to do to something nice for you."

It has been weeks, and this thing, that looks like Eliot and sounds like Eliot, but is completely dead behind the eyes and leaves trails of blood and bodies behind is still hovering around them, sticking to their sides like glue, and terrorizing them to do his bidding. They are all still alive, somehow. But Quentin knows that if one of them dared to step out of line, that person would be dead in an instant.

The Monster keeps calling them his friends, flicking smiles at them that burn like hellfire. Every interaction is stifled, forced and painful. And Quentin is his favorite, which so far has been anything but advantageous for him.

"What is it?" Quentin replies evenly, but his whole body is trembling.

"I will let you talk to the one you love. But only for a few minutes," The Monster says and inches closer. They are both standing, and Not-Eliot is staring down at him. Quentin doesn't recoil, the way he used to when it was just the two of them, before he regained his memories.

"Why would you do that? I thought you hated him." It comes out strained, like he's holding his breath underwater and gasping for air. Talking to Eliot is all he has ever wanted since he entered this incessant nightmare that is currently his life, but it seems too good to be true, and his heart is thrashing fiercely in his chest, and he feels like he's about to keel over, and—

"I do. But being friends means sometimes doing things you don't like for the other person." The statement is shockingly insightful and true coming from The Monster, as if he's actually managed to learn a lesson along the way. And Quentin is not going to keep pushing his luck by questioning him.

"How?" is all he says.

"I will allow you to enter my mind, where he resides. But remember, you won't have a lot of time," The Monster says.

Quentin nods, trying to keep his body movements from veering into frantic. The Monster takes Quentin's hand and places it on his own chest. "Now close your eyes."

Quentin screws his eyes shut so rapidly and forcefully they might just stay closed for the rest of his life. Then blackness gradually transitions into light, and Quentin is transported into a manifestation of the Physical Cottage. Unlike the real thing, it's deadly silent and drably colored, like somebody put a filter over this reality.

Almost terrified of what he could find, Quentin begins to move slowly. He reaches the fireplace, where the backs of the two deep-seated velvet twin chairs he remembers once getting drunk on with Eliot face him, and on one of them, an all too familiar head of dark curls greets him.

"Eliot," Quentin whispers, and tries his damnedest not to break out into tears. Eliot turns his head around, and once his eyes meet Quentin's, he drops the crystal glass of amber liquid he's holding onto the carpet. He all but leaps out of his chair and runs toward Quentin, engulfing him in a tight hug that speaks of desperate longing, and burrows his head in the crook of Quentin's neck.

"God, I thought I'd never get the chance to see you again," Eliot sobs, the sound coming out muffled.

Quentin takes Eliot's head in his hands, thumbs on either side of his face brushing over the delicate skin, and takes a long, careful look at him. He wants to remember this moment. (In case this is truly their final moment together, but Quentin doesn't want to think about that possibility.)

"How are you?" Quentin asks. He's scared of the answer, but he asks him regardless.

"Quentin, he's killing. So much. And every time it's like I'm there with him. I want to stop him, but I can't." 

That's the answer Quentin was terrified of. So Eliot's aware of what is happening. Quentin's heart aches so profoundly it feels like it's about to splinter off into a million pieces. He and the rest of their motley gang have been tortured undoubtedly, but it's nothing compared to the suffering Eliot has been forced to endure. And unlike the rest of them, Eliot's entirely on his own. People often talk a big game about switching places with another person if they could, but Quentin would actually do it, in a heartbeat. A desire not born out of heroism, but unadulterated love.

"I promise you, I will get you out of here," Quentin says solemnly, too weak to hold back the tears from running down his face. He leans his forehead against Eliot's. "I promise you, I promise you, I promise you," he repeats devotedly, his warm breath fanning across Eliot's face.

"I love you, Quentin," Eliot laughs sadly. Quentin kisses him. Hard and hungry, teeth smashing and lips melting together, the taste of salt water on their tongues. It's their entire history, everything they have gone through together and everything they feel for each other bundled up in one kiss.

"I don't know how much time we have left," Quentin says when they break apart.

"So kiss me again."

Quentin complies.

A second later, he opens his eyes. 

Dead eyes are staring back at him.

**Author's Note:**

> The mythology of being able to enter another person's mind is loosely inspired by TVD, for those that have watched it.


End file.
